“Do you think you’re going to have enough for Alice’s niece’s and grandnephew’s tickets?”
I nod happily. “Yeah, and the rest home activities director is so excited about the way the summer sessions have been going, she’s booked Carla for two new groups of seniors during the fall. That made Carla so happy, she offered me a bonus, but I told her to put it toward the tickets. We’re going to be in good shape.”
“That’s so badass.” Ruby stops for a second, debating. “Have you told your parents about the internship yet? Everything that you’re doing with Carla is so cool. I bet they’d be really proud of you.”
“Ha, as if.”
“I’m serious, Parker.”
“You’ve met our parents, right? Mom would be epically disappointed, and Dad might literally keel over from a rage heart attack.” I shudder. “No way. Maybe when I’m fifty. Maybe.”
“But don’t you think they’d come around? People are good at surprising us. I mean look at me—when you first met me, you thought I was the most irritating person on the planet.”
“No I didn’t!”
“Oh, please. You totally did. I come on pretty strong. I know that.”
I stop and gently pull at her shoulder. “Ruby. I don’t think you should say that anymore.”
“But it’s true.”
“So? There’s nothing wrong with being enthusiastic. And I’m sorry I ever made you feel like there was. It’s really amazing how you immediately let everyone in, how open you are. I’m so happy you’re my friend.”
Ruby shakes her head. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I know. But I want to. You’re fearless and bright, and you should own it. And anyone who doesn’t like it is a . . . a . . .” I struggle to find a good description. “A jerk.”
Ruby tries not to smile. “You can do better than that.”
“A . . .” I cringe. “A jerkface?”
“Better,” she says, chewing on her lip for a second. “How about this: I’ll try to own it if you think about telling your parents.”
“Ruby—”
“I’m serious. Just think about it.”
“Okay, okay,” I say.
“Good.” She chucks me on the arm. “Let’s go find your brother.”
When we finally locate Finn and Charlie—a good three and a half blocks from where they said they’d be—the parade’s already started.
“Hey,” Finn says, his face brightening as he sees me. His bruises from the boxing contest have hit the deep red and purple stage, but he seems to be moving a bit easier in his body today.
I hand him the hot dog. “Relish and sauerkraut. Disgusting.”
“Only way to eat it,” he replies.
From the corner of my eye, I see Charlie pull Ruby close, and she nestles against his chest, giggling. Embarrassed, Finn and I immediately turn our heads to the street.
“Want to sit on the curb?” I ask.
He takes his red sweatshirt from his bag and spreads it out so we can both sit on it. It’s close, but I don’t mind. We pull our knees up and eat the grilled hot dogs, watching the people start to stream by.
There’s a marching band of teenagers playing a somewhat recognizable version of Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song,” followed by a group of scantily clad women wearing red, white, and blue, gyrating enthusiastically.
“Sexy,” Charlie says, dropping next to Finn.
Ruby leans into his arm, sending him a gentle elbow in the ribs. “Watch it.”
Finn raises an eyebrow at me, and I laugh, shaking my head.
“Oooh, good job!” Ruby calls out as a bunch of ladies and a few guys Hula-Hoop their way past us. “I love Hula-Hooping,” she says to us.
We watch the vice mayor go by, his aides throwing out hard candy and Dum Dum lollipops. Finn raises his hand and snaps one of the lollipops midthrow, then hands it to me.
“Yes! Cream soda!” I unwrap it and pop it in my mouth. “My hero,” I say.
Finn snorts and turns his attention to a bunch of kids in front of us, each one balancing precariously on a unicycle.
My favorite is the group of ladies holding a banner that says LAWN CHAIR LADIES BRIGADE. The dozen or so middle-aged women that follow are all holding up foldable lawn chairs, clicking them open and clacking them shut, whirling them in elaborate synchronized patterns.
“Sweet!” Charlie yells.
“Seconded,” Finn says.
The parade continues, but I keep sneaking glances at Charlie and Ruby and Finn.
Ruby is clapping in time to the music of another plucky high school band. Of course they’re playing a Taylor Swift song, and of course Finn is humming along, I’m sure without realizing what the song is.
I meet Charlie’s eyes. He’s got his arm slung around Ruby’s shoulders, and for the first time I can remember, his skin doesn’t look translucent anymore. I can’t see the shadowy river of blue veins up his arm where they poked IVs. I can’t see the soft skin of his scalp under his hair. I just see my brother, whole.
As if he can feel the weight of my stare, Charlie turns my way. “What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
But that’s not exactly true.
I can’t stop looking at him.
He’s not making terrible choices. He’s not hiding cancer bruises or holding back a bloody nose. He’s not faking a good mood with Erin or lashing out at Matty or me.
Instead, he’s taking care of himself. He’s taking care of Ruby.
He’s healthy. He’s happy.
His future could be anything.
It could be everything.
Right then I realize something, and I have to look away, the weight of it making me suddenly dizzy.
Charlie isn’t going to be okay.
Charlie already is.
Forty-Nine
“DO YOU REMEMBER THE year we went to Lake Michigan and watched the Fourth of July fireworks from the lake?” Charlie asks as we follow Ruby and Finn. The two of them are in a heated discussion about something Float-related, and after trying to make sense of it, Charlie and I fell back, letting them lead the way.
“Yeah. You kept insisting each one was the best,” I say, remembering the look of sheer glee on my brother’s face as his neck craned up, watching the lights.
“Yeah, and you kept saying, ‘This one must be the finale,’?” Charlie says.
I realize I don’t even remember the finale now, only the feeling of dread each time, not wanting it to be over.
“That was the last summer before I got sick,” he continues. “Though I guess I was probably already sick—I just didn’t know it.”
Ahead of us, Ruby punches Finn in the arm. “You are being the Emperor of Assholes right now.”
Finn stops and looks over his shoulder at us, rubbing his arm. “Did you see that? She’s a menace.”
“Watch it, Casper,” Charlie says. “You’re talking about my girl there.”
Ruby grins happily at “my girl” and marches forward.
Charlie catches me watching him and immediately stiffens.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing. It’s just that Ruby seems happy,” I offer.
“Oh,” he says, clearly surprised. Then his shoulders soften. “Thanks.”
We walk awkwardly next to each other, but it’s not angry. It’s just been a long time since we’ve talked without hurting each other.
“You know what else I remember about that year at Michigan?” I ask.
“Let me guess: your refusal to hike the trail to the lighthouse?”
“No! And besides, that trail was too long for nine-year-old kids; sand dunes are hard to walk on!”
“I did just fine,” Charlie brags.
“What I wanted to say was that I loved that house we stayed at on Hamlin Lake,” I say. “Do you remember it?”
“Yeah, I do.”
He and I slept on twin beds on the screened-in porch. “Twins on the twin beds,” Dad kept joking, and every night we’d whisper to each other until there were longer and longer pauses between our conversation, and we’d fall asleep with the sound of the lake lapping at the shore below us, the crickets and tree frogs going mad with summer in the trees around us.